


New Memories, Made To Be Remembered

by Verany



Series: Reminiscences [2]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verany/pseuds/Verany
Summary: Deep down they wanted the same and were willing to make sacrifices to get it: a family.





	1. Night Remembered

**Author's Note:**

> A very slow-burn fic which complete plot and ending game isn't sure even for the author.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make things less confusing: the first chapter is in now - flashback - now -format, "now" being 2x20 and flashback happening in 2x01. I own absolutely nothing!  
> //Chapter 1 has gone through minor fixes on 12/10/2018

“Gentlemen. Why so glum?” a smooth, distantly familiar voice asked.

Damon glanced at Alaric to seek his reaction through eye contact, but to his surprise Ric wasn’t looking at him; he stared right behind him where the newcomer was with a mix of shock and recognition. A train of thoughts sped through Damon’s mind, quicker than it was possible to comprehend, until realization struck itself sharply on his consciousness: why Ric reacted as he did and why did the voice sound so familiar had only one horrifying but logical explanation.

* * *

The moment Jeremy's neck snapped under his fingers his mind went numb. The scene happened right before his eyes, he was part of it, but the surreal, dreamlike distortion didn’t disappear. Elena’s scream was terrifying, sadness and grief spiced with fear. He hurt her. That was all he could make her feel, apparently, but at the moment miss Elena Gilbert’s feelings were existing somewhere far outside the reality he was experiencing, unclear and unimportant as he left the house and ran to his own. 

His heart was broken not once but multiple times - the first hundred times by Katherine and now by Elena. Was this the price of vulnerability, of caring and opening himself to another woman? He had loved Katherine from his human life to undead, he had sacrificed over a century to pursue her heart. Who was he kidding, he still loved her, and if she happened to come to him and tell she returned his feelings no matter in how abysmal tiny amount, he would gladly become hers again. But that wasn’t likely to happen. He wasn’t as young and foolish as he once was, living a life where her every word and touch was worth of gold and blood.

Was he really putting himself in the same position with Elena? Young, sweet, naïvi Elena. Damon wondered had Katherine been like her before she was turned. He wondered would Elena become the same kind of a woman with a little bit of time. Katherine 2.0. Bitterness burned its way through the numbness. They both managed to get under his skin and make him feel so stronly, unravelling him.

He wished he could end the pain just like he had ended Jeremy’s.

Thinking of them did no good, it only made him angrier. He wanted to lash out, hurt someone like he was hurt, see tears falling down from eyes which weren’t his. Someone had to suffer the pain he refused to acknowledge, refused to address, and it had to happen right away. Otherwise who knew what he would do in such a volatile state? Regret could come later. Sorrow could come later. Dealing with the murder of the youngest Gilbert? Later!

Damon threw the whiskey glass he had habitually filled and drunk in the fireplace and stormed out of the Salvatore boarding house into his car and out of the town. He needed to go somewhere where vampires weren’t as present issue as in Mystic Falls to deal with himself the only way his supernatural nature permitted. Anger was making his nerves sing with need.

It was late and the streets were almost empty. He drove highly over the speed limit, concentrating on the leather under his hands and the purring of the engine until he had arrived to his destination: a moderate size club with low lighting and loud music. Dance floor filled with sweaty, barely covered bodies, and if one listened closely, the noise of a steamy blow job could be heard from the dark alley just next to the club. A perfect place for his needs, Damon decided when he realised the last drops of numbness had evaporated and a heightened state of hunger had claimed its place.

In no time after he had entered the club - suavely charming his way through the line covering the door -  a woman, slightly nervous, came at him. He was leaning against the bar counter, waiting for his turn to order before it was time to start the hunt.

“Hi. I couldn’t help but notice that you’re all alone. Care for some company?” the young adult with a pretty smile asked.

A ‘yes’ with a nod and a charming smile were Damon’s answer. He ordered a drink for himself and his lovely new companion before striking up a conversation. She introduced herself as Hannah. Relaxing quickly in his company, she laughed at his jokes and answered eagerly to his questions about her family (lived alone, family in another state), partner (single) and work (student, part-time cashier). She had a cute, human habit of looking down every time Damon flirted. The added rush of blood on her cheeks and a wide, delighted smile made it just cuter.

“Where are your friends?”

“I came alone. New in the city, y’know.”

She wanted him, Damon could see. He wanted to eat her, rip her flesh apart in a way that would make his brother’s legacy as a ripper pale next to his work, and after the questions he knew that she was _perfect_ for that. Not a virgin, but definitely inexperienced in many areas, which was something Damon could easily turn to his advantage.

“Let's take another round and then we should test how the dance floor can handle us,” Damon suggested with a smirk and got an agreeing laugh from Hannah. He turned his head to see where to direct his words to get the bartender’s attention but he didn't even manage to open his mouth before new drinks were set in front of him.

“The gentleman upstairs would like to properly welcome you,” the bartender informed monotonically before moving to serve other thirsty customers.

Hannah took their fresh drinks quickly as a rabbit and shouted over the music and noise as she skittered away: “C'mon Damon! Let's say hi to him and then we'll dance!” She almost bounced on the first steps of the wide stairs leading to upstairs, not looking back to make sure he was following, just assuming that he would do so. Damon had to take a deep breath to control the snarl which he desperately wanted to let out.

His furious inner ‘Who the fu--?’ was cut off when he glanced where Hannah was going.

A blond man was leaning against the railing, looking boredly at the human mass under him. He raised his glass in an acknowledgement when their eyes met, and his expression evolved. Damon was flabbergasted, because such a clear look of recognition wasn’t something he expected to get from a shady club in another town. The mysterious stranger didn't look threatening, slightly amused if nothing else. A tiny smile, more of a rise of the corners of his lips, had carved itself on his face.

Damon followed Hannah in a slower pace, giving himself some needed time to calm down his raging emotions which demanded him to act, to follow his needs. Letting his true nature control himself had its downsides, the biggest being the inability and difficulty of controlling one’s emotions since everything was felt so intensively. While walking through of the couple-filled stairway - the dancefloor could have been on literal fire and no acknowledging would have been made by the kissing pairs - his first impression of the stranger formed itself: the other could not be a threat. Confusion clouded his mind since he couldn't answer _why_.

Meanwhile Hannah had approached the man and given him a small kiss to his cheek. “It seems like you are having fun,” he said with a clear, sweet accent which Damon could easily imagine echoing over a glass of whiskey and clean bed sheets. No word was silent enough in the clamorous club for his unnatural hearing to pick. The stranger was dressed in a casual v-neck and dark jeans, looking slightly out of place. Hannah gave him Damon’s drink and excused herself with a giggle as she was in the need for the ladies’ room - and then she just left, like under a spell.

“Come, the drink should be to your liking,” the stranger said without raising his voice, looking straight at Damon who had reached the top of the stairway. Shivers ran down Damon’s spine for he hadn’t expected to find other vampires and _he_ hadn’t noticed the vampire when he got into the premise. Immortality did explain some of the other’s behaviour. No matter, there was still time for some more reckless decisions - maybe he would burn the place after he had made the worst decision ever and killed all of the humans? However the night turned out, Hannah’s life was his to take, the other be damned. Damon had to start mentally preparing himself for some kind of a fight since his body didn't release the adrenal for fight or flight scenario. The first of many poorly considered choices to come was to put his foot after another until he was close enough to be handed his beverage.

Damon smelt the drink, trying to spot if it had been poisoned with vervain or something else. The bartender had been compelled, told the small, subconsciously made realisation which reached the surface of his thoughts. The smell of freshly spilled blood hit his nostrils, but not from his own glass. He glanced at the other who smiled smugly and took a sip from the dark glass he was holding. He didn’t get the telltale veins under his eyes, too controlled, too _experienced_ to show his true nature. Damon hid his surprise into his own glass.

“Should I know you?” he asked. No memory whispered _'you’ve seen him before'_ when Damon looked at his face, his eyes, the curve of his lips or the light stubble he had. But the other clearly knew him since the whiskey was just as he preferred it - or he had made a damn good guess. But still he didn’t know how could the clear recognition he’d seen before be explained nor how his body didn't react like this was the first time of meeting this particular predator.

“I’ll take no offence if you can’t remember me. Tell me, what brings you here tonight?” He quickly dismissed the question with his own and looked at Damon with pure curiosity, making it feel like he honestly cared about the answer. Bemused as Damon was, he didn’t answer right away, doubt souring his mind, reminding him of the anger he had come to the bar to deal with.

He saw no reason to trust the stranger, the older, the stronger vampire with the truth, especially if the power balance between them was already unfair.

“Did you compel her?” he asked bluntly.

The other laughed openly. “I only told her to do what she wished to do so desperately,” he admitted without shame, wide smile on his smug face and voice playful.

Damon hummed. “I’m here just for tonight, and I would appreciate greatly if you didn’t try to stop me from taking her with me,” he finally said, not trying to hide the aggressive bite from his voice. A clear threat to the other, rashly delivered.

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” Damon asked, changing the subject back from himself to the other. He sipped his drink again, enjoying the burn. The fire in his throat would suppress the need for real blood, but only for a moment.

“Unfortunately I can’t do that since it would endanger both of our lives.” The words were accompanied with a distant smile and relaxed demeanour.

Damon snorted, not giving much of thought to the unexpected reply. He was already endangering his own life with his thoughtless words. “Sounds like a load of bullshit.” The other’s reaction was more of an answer than his words were: his jaw clenched angrily and the amused, almost friendly eyes got a furious twitch in them - but the display of uncontrolled emotion was gone before Damon could blink his eyes.   

Had Hannah died in the bathroom or why was she taking so long?

“I’m a simple man, only trying to protect my family,” he answered with a cold smile, not giving anything else for an explanation. It was a tight, I-dare-you-to-continue smile without its original playfulness and promise of a good time. A deeply buried part in Damon could empathise with him, for once there had been a time when he would have done anything for his family, for his baby brother. Sometimes, in the darkest hours of the night, he wondered was Stefan’s childish idiocy worth an eternal punishment. A simple question hid his deepest thoughts: who was this other vampire?

“Damon!” Suddenly Hannah was walking towards them, interrupting the short but colder-than-hell silence between the two. “Are we going to conquer the dancefloor or not?” Her eyes were glassy while her tone was as happy as possible with its pitching high notes.

“Everything alright, dear?” the other asked with deep (faked, Damon was sure) concern, ignoring the burning glare Damon sent to him. His worrying was preventing them from leaving but Hannah’s reappearance was also hindering Damon’s goal of getting to know who the other was. He didn’t know which made him more infuriated.

The question was apparently wrong to ask; the glass broke, giving a way for the tears to ran down her face, smearing her mascara in dark streaks. She lowered her head in shame, unable to look at them.

“It-it’s nothing, the-the girls are just…” she was saying, voice strained as if it hurt to answer, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

“Shh, love, come here,” he interrupted her with shushing and took her into a comforting hug, ignoring Damon’s eyerolling and teeth clenching. “No need to cry.”

One hand was used to pet Hannah’s hair while the other gently wiped out the ruined makeup under her eyes. Hannah didn’t start weeping dramatically; she slowly relaxed and let herself be calmed. To Damon it was somewhat fascinating to see how others did what he thought he had already mastered, the skill of calming stressed prey. Prey that was supposed to be _his_.

When the tears had stopped falling and her breathing had become more steady, the stranger put his fingers under her chin to lift her face up and to create an eye contact with her. “You know what will help? A dance, which you already promised to our dear friend here. Go and have that dance, and I will deal with them. Okay? Good girl.” He let go of her and finally granted Damon his attention. He looked thoughtful and calm; there was no hint of the earlier anger nor the cheerfulness.

“Do have fun,” he said dismissively.

Damon stared at the other, pondering desperately what words he should use to direct the conversation back to its original track. He wanted, _needed_ to know who the other vampire was! Damon’s frustrated face, the brows furrowing and lips setting in a tight line, seemed to only bring a small smile back on the other’s face.

“Let’s go, Damon, let’s dance!” Hannah said loudly with a voice full of teasing impatience. As a natural reaction Damon looked at her quickly before turning his glare back to the other, but when his eyes found the correct spot, he had already disappeared.

“Will you rip my head off if I burn this place down?” he asked quietly, not really focusing his voice anywhere, trusting that Hannah wouldn’t hear that well over the loud music. The other would hear his question, but to his disappointment, no answer was heard over the cacophony.

The dance floor was filled as a remix of a popular pop song was played, giving every young adult a chance to sway their hips against their desired partner like animals in heat. To this same dance Damon and Hannah joined, he placing his hands on Hannah’s hips from behind and pushing his pelvis against her to make the movement more intimate. Hannah let her head loll against him, closing her eyes in pleasure and coincidentally exposing her neck.

The lights were flashing to the rhythm of the music and the temperature was high, making sweat raise quickly on their skin. Flashing lights didn’t disturb Damon’s sight, he could still see the sweat glistening down on Hannah’s neck. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, giving room to all the other sensations to bombard him with information. The taste of her skin, the smell of her arousal, the beat of her heart, the skin to skin touch, all of them filled him with growing, demanding hunger.

Damon placed a soft, lingering kiss on her neck. He let his other hand wander up her stomach, almost touching the underside of her breasts.

“Let’s go,” he whispered with a low tone, giving another kiss under her ear before letting go. Hannah turned quickly and took his hand, letting him to lead them out of the building to the dark and empty alley, never questioning him.

A few burning touches to the right place, a skilled kiss and Hannah was begging: “Damon please, hurry--” Her moaning was interrupted when he squeezed her ass. The sweet noise and panting slowly turned into uncomfortable whine as Damon’s teeth pierced the skin of her neck. The pain she felt didn't register immediately through the lust.

“Damon, wha- stop, please sto-” she cried out when his fingers dug tortuously hard on her flesh. Tears ran down her face but the pain was nothing compared to the terror when Damon stopped drinking and looked straight in to her eyes.

“No- no, please just, don't,” Hannah sobbed. The rest of her make-up was ruined and she was trembling in fear. Damon paused for a second. Decisions, decisions.

“Okay. Go then.”

She bolted like a little, panicky mouse, but her freedom was short lived as Damon attacked her from the behind, pulling her back against him. This time he didn't save his strength but let his fingers crush her bird bones and bruise her paper-thin skin. His teeth savaged her throat until there was blood everywhere. He let all the anger, all the hatred and confusion pour out of him and tunnel physically in to the poor human in his arms. Dead human, he noticed after the worst of his rage had bled out with her life. Her heartbeat was barely there, trying to keep her alive and surviving just a little bit longer. He knew she didn’t have a chance, unless vampire blood somehow managed to save her, but even its healing properties couldn’t guarantee her survival.

Not that Damon was considering to turn her. Fledglings always required care if one wanted to keep them alive, and right now he didn’t have the patience for a baby vamp. With these thoughts he raised her into his arms like a bride, making sure her head and the gory wounds were hidden - or at least her bloody neck and worst bruises were, there was nothing he could do to her legs. He moved her to his car, putting her as discreetly as possible in to the trunk before moving to the driver’s seat.

He felt tired. It was a funny feeling for a being who didn’t necessarily require sleep, but he still felt tired. Or more like exhausted. He had killed an innocent human being to serve his own sanity. And now that he had managed to release the most explosive emotions, the more hidden ones demanded to be treated next.

The codriver’s door opened and someone sat next to him.

“Drive few miles south. There’s a good place where she won’t be found.”

Numbly Damon turned the car on, because in his selfishness he had already forgotten the body. The interruption seemed to clear his head a little, but he didn’t open his mouth to voice his thoughts. A sigh came from his passenger.

“No, I wouldn’t rip your head off because you wouldn’t be able to burn the club down. I have witches with me, that’s why the bartender knew to invite you to introduce yourself. It’s a standard procedure.”

"Witches?"

"I offer them my protection and resources and they give me their skills and loyalty."

“That doesn’t explain how could you recognize me.”

A silence. “We have met briefly before, and you made a lasting impression. Let’s leave it at that, shall we, since now is your turn to answer my questions. What's wrong, Damon?”

His fingers gripped the wheel harder. The other knew the best place for the body - not to mention his chances to overpower the other were very slim - so he was stuck with him and his own thoughts. And the body, which his mind didn’t seem to feel the need to acknowledge unless it was absolutely necessary. But he didn’t want to think of Elena or how she had refused him with so familiar way and told him how they had no future together since her Prince Charming was Stefan. Or how Stefan insisted he felt nothing and only Elena’s magical abilities had made him feel something when it seemed like the exact opposite in his head. He had always felt, now he just couldn’t control it as easily as before. He couldn't hide it.

He let out a deep sigh and willed his muscles to release all the tension which had gathered while his mind had tormented itself. Search the fix from the outside and the mind would follow.

“I told a girl I-I thought cared about me, that she and I, we had something between us. Her answer was to tell how she only loves my brother and it’s always going to be my brother. Understandably I’m a little upset,” Damon admitted with self-deprecating smile, not looking at the other. To his surprise the initial reaction the other gave was a laugh. Damon’s mood soured.

“What is the expression humans nowadays use? Oh, yes, I feel you."

“How could you possibly--”

“My first love was someone both I and my older brother fell for, but she only returned my brother’s feelings. Fortunately, she died shortly after our turning. No need to fight of her anymore.”

Damon was too shocked to comment.

“That sucks,” he breathed. The other reacted with another laugh. It seemed like he had got over it.

“Let me give you an advice: women are rarely worth it, especially if they are human. Bring her over if you think she’s worth it, forget her if you are not willing to do so. We are immortals, Damon, but there’s no point in wasting eternity in pain. Tell me, is she worth it? All the fighting, all the suffering?” he asked with smooth, lulling voice. As if they weren’t driving to hide a body but sitting on a sofa in front of a fireplace, chatting about life in general.

Damon couldn’t answer the question right away for he had no answer ready. He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure. Elena was so sweet and so caring, but also so naïvi and even manipulative, even if she didn’t admit it herself. The longer Damon thought the more sure he was that no, even with all her compassion an eternity with Elena wouldn’t be worth it. She couldn’t let anyone get hurt and she was so passionate to blame everyone else for the misery in her life. But even with all her compassion, she didn’t seem to care about suffering unless it directly affected her.

The more Damon pondered the clearer his mind became, but he was not ready to admit what he had discovered, so he pushed every traitorous thought back to where they came from. One thing was sure: Elena made her brother happy and he could not give a fuck about him and - _Stefan was his brother, how could he not care about him?_

“Turn left from here.” Damon was glad he wasn’t pressured to answer. He felt bitter clarity lighten his mind for now he knew that what he thought was between him and Elena was only a projection of what he wanted, a reliving of something he had wished from Katherine and a way to make his brother suffer.

“No, she’s not worth it, but what kind of a big brother would I be if I didn’t try to make my brother’s life miserable?” Damon finally answered, sounding content and more like his usual, sarcastic and teasing self because of his epiphany.

“Turn left again and keep following the road,” was the only answer he got, but the smile in his partner-in-crime’s voice was unmistakable.

The road ended and they existed the car. Damon took Hannah’s quickly cooling body while the other grabbed shovels from the car’s trunk. He followed the other vampire, who led them to a place where no human had ventured before from the look of the ground and the surrounding flora.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the other asked before they started working. The place was filled with wildflowers and the bright moon was easily seen as the sky was almost cloudless. Natural light helped their work of digging a hole for Hannah and dumping her there. It was unceremonious work with minimal words passing between them. It didn’t take long before they were finished.

“Thank you,” Damon said quietly as they filled the last inch of her grave. He looked at the other who stood gracefully, even with the dirt and dust on his clothes. He seemed to belong in the middle of the woods, ruling over the woodland creatures like a king.

“Anytime, Damon. Shall we go?” he replied with a light tone and a playful smile. Damon smirked and they raced together to the car, the older vampire beating him easily. It was a freeing experience.

He drove them back to the club which had been closed during the time they were away. It was getting early, but the Sun didn’t worry Damon.

“I still don’t know your name,” he commented after parking on the almost empty lot. There was a dark skinned girl leaning against the cold concrete wall, clearly waiting for someone.

“I still won’t tell you,” was the reply. Damon was about to protest but the other managed to continue before he could do so: ”Give me your phone.”

Damon dug his phone from his jeans’ pocket and gave it to the other’s waiting hand, eyebrow risen in a question. “Don’t call me, I won’t answer, but you can text me if you ever feel like it,” he offered a solution while saving a new contact on Damon’s phone. After he was done talking he gave the phone back and smiled. Damon could only raise his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Don’t either try to look for me, I will find you if needed. Goodnight, sweet raven,” he said with a humorous eye wink and exited the car before Damon could respond with an angry comment. He watched as the other walked towards the waiting girl, and together they returned inside the dark club. As Damon eavesdropped he heard the girl asking was everything alright, but no personal names were exchanged during their short conversation.

Damon sighed when the club’s door closed. He turned his car and set his course back to Mystic Falls. He hadn’t managed to even exit the city when he figured out that some kind of name must have been given to him since the other had to put _something_ as his name while saving his number. With one hand on the wheel and other fishing his phone back from the jeans where he had automatically put it, he felt like his evening had turned from a terrible nightmare into a night well-spent.

He returned Mystic Falls in high spirits and a smile on his face.

_'Nik (text don't call)'_

* * *

When he turned his head towards the stranger he saw a knowing, humorous glint in the grey eyes. 

Damon groaned softly and let his head droop down to face his glass and hide his embarrassment. Of course Lady Fortune was rewarding her favourite like this. How could it be possible that the main villain of their tragic story had to be the same vampire he had met all those weeks ago and got a fine pep talk from? A pep talk of how Elena was not worth of his love nor being turned into a vampire, even though he wasn’t sure if the other had known the woman he had talked of was also the human döppelganger, needed in the very special but deadly for so many ritual.

“Klaus, I presume.”


	2. A Day Hard to Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows episode 2x20. Some lines are directly from TVD wikia's episode script.  
> //Chapter 2 has gone through minor fixes on 12/10/2018

_“Klaus, I presume.”_

“In the flesh,” Klaus replied, a tiny smirk making its home on his face after he saw the range of emotions Damon went through: shock, disbelievement, anger. “Thanks for the loaner, mate,” he continued politely, directing his words to Alaric with a smirk.

"Any reason you stopped by to say hi?” Damon asked, a little curious but mostly suffocating in his own emotions which made him definitely not to hide his face to dodge Klaus. Shock and a spurge of hidden guilt manifested in aggression which made him sound much ruder than he had intended. Alaric gave Damon a sharp look. Of all the humans in the Grill, it was Ric who knew how he could get them in big trouble with his poorly chosen words and sarcastic personality. Damon’s mind felt like it had switched from brooding “what the hell am I going to do now?” to an autopiloted mess, trying to only comprehend what was happening. It was even worse than to be blindly led by a single emotion.

"Just thought I'd remind you to not do anything you'll regret.” Klaus sounded as if he was trying hard to make the words sound like a gentle advice and not a threat. To Ric the sliver of gentleness wasn’t strong enough to be noticed so he tensed, ready to act.

Damon grimaced. "I don't suppose I could talk you into a postponement, by any chance, huh?” he asked, not raising his eyes from the bottom of the glass where they had wandered. Shame, wasn't it, the emotion filling him? It burned his guts like vervain. Shame for not listening Klaus’ advice when he had the chance and shame for letting Elena’s existence control his actions so thoroughly. He had royally screwed up.

Rational thinking was, once again, undermined by his emotions. Of course he was making stupid decisions in the name of saving Elena's ungrateful life. Once. Again. How many times he had saved her just to regret it the next day, if not earlier? Her thanks were given only when she wanted to manipulate him, her selfishness hurting everyone around her. 

Klaus reaction came almost instantly, but to Damon the inhumanly fast reaction time had felt eternal. "What did you do, Damon?" Klaus asked in surprise, smile melting away from his face and voice. 

Damon closed his eyes. Right from the very first guess, just like he had dreaded, since he definitely had done something. Was he that easy to read? "Does it matter?" he finally faced Klaus, turning his whole body towards the Original. That sounded like a terrible thing to ask, even to his own ears. Alaric took a sharp breath, agreeing with Damon's introspection. But Klaus, he was looking at Damon as if he had been waiting for the moment he would have the opportunity to lock eyes with him. As if, for a moment, he was the only creature deserving his attention in the vast cosmos.

"It does, if it means that I need to delay the ritual. I have my vampire. I have my werewolf. I have everything I need. I am not delaying the ritual, so be co-operative and tell me, _what did you do_?" With every word Klaus collected posture cracked and his face twisted into a scowl. Stress might have made some more vulnerable, but it also made others more volatile. Damon wasn’t surprised; the coming night was the one Klaus had been waiting and preparing for centuries. He had the right to feel a little tense. 

Doubt suffocated him as he broke the eye contact: should he lie or not? Lying could help save Elena’s life -- why was he hesitating if he already knew that Elena’s life had no meaning to him? He had followed his impulses when it came to Elena and fed her his blood. Once again his nature led him in trouble, and this time he doubted the evening had a good end. The Original had already dug up the confession from the depths of his mind and he was not some couple decades old vampire Damon could easily win in a physical fight or someone easily tricked.

_“Tell me, is she worth it? All the fighting, all the suffering?”_

Now it was just the matter of keeping himself, Stefan and Alaric alive. Possibly Andie, but Damon was sure Klaus didn’t care about some human reporter/bloodbag. He had grown affectionate towards the woman, but Damon knew he would never turn her. He would never give her the curse nor the gift of immortality. But Elena?

_“No, she’s not worth it, but what kind of a big brother would I be if I didn’t try to make my brother’s life miserable?”_

“I will kill everyone in here if I don't get an answer, Damon. Don't make me repeat myself,” Klaus said, patience completely gone from his smooth voice. The threat was simple and, in its way, very effective. 

Rising his eyes to meet Klaus’ he said: “Elena won't die in the ritual because she has vampire blood in her system. My blood.” The truth came out of his mouth like a sinner’s confession. He wanted to punch himself; admitting it was his blood was against every inch of self-preservation he held. But at the same time felt so freeing, like confessions were supposed to. Breathing was easier and he felt lighter.

Alaric gasped in a shock but his reaction was like a breeze of air next to the storm Klaus raised: only a blur could be seen as he flashed to the billiard table, took a wooden cue, snapped it in two parts and drove one part straight through Damon’s stomach, making Damon close his eyes and physically try to get away from the cue. He made sure Damon didn’t fall from the stool nor moved away with his hand, holding Damon’s shoulder in a bruising grip as if he was trying to channel all of his anger into the touch.

What neither of them were expecting was Alaric’s long honed reflexes for killing a seemingly murderous vampire: he had shot a miniature stake from the machine under his sleeve straight at Klaus’ chest, aiming for the Original’s demise. Luckily for him he missed the heart, but the stake buried itself right under Klaus’ collarbone.

The air disappeared from the room.

Not a sound was made while Klaus took one deep breath, controlling the air as if he was the sole being to have been granted the access to oxygen. He radiated danger. For a moment Damon was willing to bet on Klaus fulfilling his promise prematurely and ripping everyone’s head off from their shoulders, starting from Alaric’s and then moving to his. To a silent surprise Klaus only removed the tiny nuisance and tightened his grip on Damon, simultaneously breaking his shoulder bones with a sickening crunch.

“That is... disappointing, Damon. Let’s hope your mistake can be fixed or I won’t have other option but to kill you,” Klaus slowly said, making Damon cry out in pain as he pushed the billiard cue deeper as he had emphasized the word _mistake_. The cue damaged his innards while it advanced closer to his wildly beating heart. The nerves on his shoulder were burning. He felt powerless to do anything since he was younger, slower, weaker. Damon lowered his head in defeat. If he wanted to live, resistance was useless.

“Lower your weapon, hunter, or you will be responsible for their lives,” Klaus growled. The other customers were starting to look alarmed of what was happening before their eyes. Most of them were too shocked to believe what they were witnessing so they did nothing, but few with better survival instincts were searching for their phones - presumably trying to call for help, hopefully not to record the scene. 

Alaric quickly did as commanded after Damon had let out another grunt of pain. 

“Dude, get your hands off him or I’ll call the police,” was said from one of the tables. The human who had spoken showed his phone to assure he wasn’t kidding. The words of a brave but stupid human released the people from their shock and suddenly there were people whimpering and standing up to get out out _out_ before anything could happen to their meaningless lives. 

“Don’t be silly. Put the phone away and sit down, eat your fries” Klaus addressed the human without looking from Damon’s pale face as if no one could possibly be more interesting to deserve his attention. The man did as ordered to everyone’s astonishment. Gasps could be heard when he calmly returned to dip his fries in ketchup and shovel them to his mouth like nothing was out of ordinary. 

“Everyone, calm down and continue doing whatever you were doing! Nothing to see here, nothing to remember,” Klaus ordered with powerful voice. 

“Have you compulsed everyone here?!?” Alaric questioned in anguish, not expecting an answer since it became soon obvious. The panic disappeared as suddenly as it had born, and the horror show front of the bar desk was ignored as if the spot simply didn’t exist or was completely empty and therefore not important for examination.

Nothing to see, nothing to remember. 

“I wouldn’t even need to kill them myself,” Klaus confirmed verbally, showing Alaric enough recognition to flash him a wide grin with teeth.

Damon finally opened his mouth and acknowledged Klaus’ attention on him: “Where’d be the fun in that?” His comment was full of his typical sarcasm, even though it lost some of its effect when his voice wavered with pain. An honest smile and sparkling eyes met his. Klaus huffed out a little laugh, but didn’t stop radiating danger. He opened his mouth to deliver an answer but was interrupted by his own phone.

Instead of answering it, Klaus pulled the stake steadily out of Damon’s body, reopening the already healed tissue. A smile and a string of words, directed to Damon and only to Damon in a gentle, too quiet voice for the others to hear: “Don’t do anything foolish, sweet raven.”

He laid down the bloody stake next to their glasses and walked out of the Grill, accompanied by the ring of his phone. His presence continued filling every inch of the room until the moment the front door closed behind him.

Silence.

Damon let out the breath he had been unconsciously holding.

“What was that, Damon? What did he say to you?” Alaric asked slowly in shock when it became clear that Klaus was gone. He sat down, body tense and mind thinking intensely. Now that Klaus was gone from the premier Damon noticed how truly shaken his human friend was. Death had been close. 

“You don't want to know,” Damon answered. He turned himself towards the counter and signaled for new drinks, wincing when he moved his fractured shoulder. Getting staked was painful, but getting bones broken hurt even more. Alcohol was good but his body needed blood desperately to do its magic.

“No, you don't get to do that. Elena’s live is at stake and you are withholding information that could save innocents!” Ric whispered angrily, knowing something had happened between Klaus and Damon since his friend didn’t act as aggressively as he would have if it had truly been the first time he met the Original. 

“I’m trying to _protect_ you! One dead teenager is better than the complete population of Mystic Falls,” Damon snarled back, not really thinking what he was saying. He felt exhausted and fed up with the whole situation. 

They got their fresh drinks. Alaric gulped down his and sighed heavily. 

“What happened? Not even an hour ago you were willing to do anything to stop the ritual. What changed, Damon?” he asked with the face of a deeply bothered man. 

Damon opened his mouth to answer but had to snap it close when he realised that he didn't have a clear answer ready. The simple question caught him off guard. 

“I… I was foolish to think saving Elena would be enough to save everyone,” Damon said quietly, unsure if that was the whole truth. “It won't be only the doppelganger who will die. It's never only Elena, it's Stefan, it's you and it's me, Ric, don't you see? Didn’t you hear what Ni--Klaus said?” 

“So you deny you have feelings for Elena?” Alaric asked, not giving any thought to the small stumble in Damon’s words. He didn't completely swallow Damon’s reasoning, but he didn’t try to deny that there wasn’t a grain of truth in his words.

“I bet my best bourbon she'll become worse than that bitch of an ancestor of hers.” 

“Damon..”

“I’m tired of being manipulated by her and I’m tired of fighting with Stefan because of some human! He’s my brother and he _punched_ me right after I made sure he wouldn’t lose Elena forever.”

Alaric bore an exasperated expression but didn't comment to his quiet admission. 

“I can’t let Elena die.”

“And why not?” Damon questioned, anger boiling under his skin. “If she’s so ready to sacrifice herself like a martyr she is, let her!” 

“First of all, she's a good girl and - let me speak, Damon -,” he harshly said when it seemed like Damon would start arguing, ”we don't know for sure what Klaus will do after the ritual is complete. What if he decides to kill us all anyway? I'm also trying to date Elena's aunt and Elena dying, well, I don’t know how could a relationship possibly survive that,” he finished. In a tired motion Alaric rubbed his hands over his face. “Please help me?” 

Damon sighed. “Sorry Ric, but no. I tried, my help wasn’t wanted. I’d rather stay alive than risk my life _again_ for poor Elena.”

“You’re a selfish dick, Damon.” 

“Cheers to that,” Damon replied. He emptied his glass and put some money on the counter before rising up. Without looking at Alaric he left Mystic Grill, heading back to the only place he could think of as home. The Boarding house was empty when he arrived. The first thing he did was to run downstairs and grab a couple bags of blood before moving to the living room to enjoy his freezer cold drink and heal his broken body and spirit.

Damon closed his eyes and let his head rest on the sofa. The fact that mysterious Nik and Klaus were the same person left him bewildered. He was sure he was played in a way he didn’t yet understand, but to his defence he didn’t know about the existence of the Originals until recently. How did that even happen? He had been undead for over a century, and somehow the knowledge of them had never reached his ears. 

Knowing the identity of Nik - _Klaus_ , Damon corrected himself, but it was difficult after all the times he had read the name from his phone screen and wondered would he dare to contact the vampire, but then he had met Rose, and now Andie - didn’t solve as many questions as Damon had hoped, on the contrary. The little knowledge he had collected of the Originals hadn’t prepared him for the chance of not dying right away after he had admitted of trying to stop the ancient ritual. In a way Damon understood Katherine better than he had ever before; she was just trying to survive, even though the choices she had made resulted in eternity alone and on the run. Damon didn’t want to make the same mistakes she had made, especially since he still had family left. 

But Klaus was going to die, so it didn’t matter, right? And neither did Stefan want to have anything to do with him.

He didn’t feel elated. He doubted Bonnie was strong enough to stop Klaus, she was still young and terribly inexperienced as a witch. But, personally… he had nothing against Nik, especially after he had spared his life. One of the oldest vampires was to be killed because one human life was more important than the centuries of knowledge and experience Klaus and his brother had. And… he was still intrigued by him. He was willing to do as Nik wanted but at the same time bitterness surrounded Damon’s thoughts. He knew he was also ready to go with the plan to kill Klaus because a small part of him still wished the Katherine-look-a-like’s affection. 

His phone rang.

“Hmm?” he answered without opening his eyes to look at the caller-ID. 

“Damon, it’s Alaric. I need your help.” 

Damon groaned before replying: “Didn’t I already tell you I won’t help to stop the ritual?”

“It’s Caroline and Tyler, they’re the vampire and werewolf Klaus will sacrifice. You owe this to them.” Alaric sounded harsh. “I’m also hurt, so if I die know that this is our last chat and I’m happy for you if you got over Elena.” 

“Oh c’mon Ric, that’s terrible. You can do better,” Damon chuckled without meaning to, small smile staying on his lips when he realised the last part of Alaric’s words. But nonetheless he was slightly worried of Alaric being truly hurt. He just had to try to save the day even though he knew he couldn’t do it without Damon.

“I’m bleeding from a bite mark and will come back to haunt your sorry ass if I die?” Alaric proposed with a hint of desperate humour leaking into his voice. 

“You’re terrible. Where are you?” Damon had drank the last of his bloodbag and was putting his jacket on, testing his shoulder and deciding the blood had done its work well enough. He could hear the relief in Alaric’s voice as he told the coordinates. Soon he was on the move and a little bit later he met Alaric, not having bothered to take his own car. 

“What happened?” Damon asked when he arrived. The smell of blood wasn’t as strong as he had anticipated, but he had also expected Alaric to be lying. “Who bit you?” 

“Katherine, in exchange for this information. They’re in the tomb,” Alaric explained. Damon wanted to shake his friend for being so reckless as to bargain with Katherine. At least he had a cloth pressed upon the wound and nothing worse had happened - not that he could be sure of that. Damon did glance at Ric’s hand to make sure the magical ring still decorated his finger.

“Will you help me?” Ric asked with a pleading look. Damon had to groan aloud. The situation his friend managed to trick him into! If he didn’t help, Alaric would surely continuing doing stupid, heroic moves and endangering his own life. Damon felt like he had no choice but to help. 

“I’ll go first and see if it’s boobytrapped.” Alaric agreed without objection to Damon’s simple plan with a nod and let him rush to the ruins of Fell’s Church. A male, looking alert as he guarded the stairs, was walking around the ruins when Damon arrived. He was muscular, but Damon knew he didn’t have the physical strength to conquer a vampire. 

He noticed Damon quickly. “Which one are you trying to save? The blond, or the wolf? Did you really think Klaus would leave them unprotected?” he asked with a confident grin. Damon’s only answer was a bored eye roll. Like he cared about either of them. 

Simply because his opponent was a human Damon held no back when he pushed the other on the ground and wrapped his hands around his neck, squeezing and feeling the feeble bones under his fingers. He wondered was Nik - _Klaus_ \- really careless enough to only leave a human to guard when an invisible force pushed him away from the man. 

The rocky landing left Damon disoriented, which was easily used against him. He barely got back on his feet when a splitting pain infected his head. The only thing he could think was “a witch, of course” before he heard a shot and the witch fell down, blood pooling on the dead leaves under him. The agony stopped as quickly it had started. Damon raised his head to see if it was Alaric who had shot the witch - which, damn him, was a foolish thing to do, if it had been him. But it wasn’t the local history teacher with the secret passion for vampire hunting; it was Matt Wonder Boy.

“What are you doing here?” Damon automatically asked after he got up. He must have moved too fast since Matt cocked his gun to better aim at Damon. Fear reeked from the boy.

“Where’s Caroline?” That answered to Damon’s question, but didn’t tell how did Matt freaking Donovan knew Caroline would be there. He couldn’t have followed Damon, and Ric wasn’t stupid enough to involve him - or so Damon hoped. But for his own safety Damon didn’t spare more for how’s and why’s; he rushed over Matt and hit his head with butt of his rifle, making the human fall down to the ground. Unconscious but alive, unlike the witch. Emptying the rifle made him even more baffled since it was filled with wooden bullets. He considered killing the boy, but quickly threw the thought to his mental garbage bin; he didn’t have the time to hide the body.

Damon crouched to collect the bullets, grabbed Matt’s body and used vampire speed to rush back to Alaric. “What happened?” Alaric questioned immediately as he saw Damon and lowered his stake-gun which had been aimed at the spot where Damon emerged from the woods. He moved to help Damon who was trying to open the back seats’ door to throw Matt in. 

“I’ll explain later. Take him to somewhere safe, it’s getting dark soon,” Damon said, not bothering to seatbelt the human. He glanced at the slowly falling Sun and darkening sky. The night would be gorgeous with its full moon and crisp air. Unforgettable, no matter what would happened.

“Where’s Caroline and Tyler?” 

“I’ll go get them next. Get going before we run out of time,” Damon answered and mentally thanked the common sense Alaric possessed, since he didn’t question Damon before starting the car. He hoped being physically close enough to Ric would give Caroline and Tyler common sense too.

In no time had he ran back to the tomb and walked down the stone stairs. He could hear the wolf’s heartbeat and baby vamp’s sniffling. After opening the door he walked into the dimly lit dungeon. 

“Damon?” Caroline asked in surprise. Instead of mentioning Matt’s involvement - it would just slow them - he knelt down next to the baby vamp to study the chains. The metal felt weak under his fingers so he ripped the chains from the wall without an effort.

“Shh. We need to get going,” Damon said quietly and keeping his tone calm as he released her hands and helped her up. 

“Wait, Damon No! I'm not leaving without him,” she protested. Damon wanted to snarl at her but instead he sighed deeply. The boy looked as if he wasn’t sure did he want to be saved by Damon or not. Damon himself lent more towards not saving him. “It's getting dark soon. How fast can you get the hell away from here?” 

“I need to get to my family's cellar. I can lock myself up,” Tyler replied with confidence.

“I'll help,” Caroline calmly added, leaving no room for refusal.

Slowly, Damon crouched down and got to eye level with Tyler Lockwood. “Don't make me regret this,” he said as he broke down the chains holding the werewolf. He thanked him as Damon gave him space to get up. The atmosphere felt awkward, and for moment Damon was sure this was the regret he had asked not to feel. Too late now.

The Sun had already settled down and the darkness was taking its place rapidly when they got out from the underground. Tyler stumbled, almost losing his balance. He let out a low growl as he hold his chest like his heart was trying to crawl out. The moon was peeking behind the bare Spring trees.

“It’s starting,” he said quietly. Only a few hours before the ritual would begin, but without a witch his transition would start sooner than later.

“Then we better get going.” And so they went. Since Tyler was only a werewolf in a human form, he couldn’t move as fast as Damon wished but they moved as quickly as possible. Tyler’s “episodes” were coming quicker and quicker the longer they were on the move, and they all started to get worried that he wouldn’t make it. 

The ringing of Damon’s phone gave them something else to think of. 

“Bad time, little bro,” Damon answered. 

“ _What the hell are you doing_?” Stefan sounded angry and worried.

“Just tell Elena to stay put.” 

“ _She's already gone, Damon_.” 

“What?” Damon asked, too shocked to keep up with the pace they were moving in. Was Stefan truly calling him to tell that he had screwed up keeping Elena safe? He was suppose to be the Prince Charming!

“ _Klaus came. He took her_.” 

He hid his relief by abruptly ending the call, as now he knew Klaus had found a way to continue the ritual even though Damon’s blood was running through Elena’s veins. The moment he did that Tyler lost his balance completely and hit the ground. He growled in pain, all muscles tense. Damon and Caroline shared a look; the transformation had started. They had ran out of time.

“I don't know if I can hold it off. Get out of here,” Tyler said between his teeth as his bones started cracking and shifting into their new order.

“Tyler, it'll be okay,” Caroline said with that calming tone of hers but she was cut by a command to go. “You've got time. We're almost there, just…” she tried again, knowing she was the only one who had any faith in her own words.

“It's happening faster,” Tyler cut in again, face glistening with sweat. He dropped his gaze to stare at nothing as his back cracked, bones and muscles rearranging themselves to suit the wolf’s physique.

“Tyler, it's okay,” Caroline tried one last time, her voice hopeless and almost too quiet to be heard. Tyler rose his head, this time with burning yellow colouring his eyes. He took two heavy breaths and jumped towards Caroline. In that moment it was clear that they had lost him to the wolf.

Caroline was frozen, unable to move, unable to believe Tyler would be capable of hurting her. It was left to Damon to protect her since she wasn’t in the mindset of doing it herself. He tackled Tyler just before he could’ve bitten Caroline, rolling to the ground with the werewolf on him. His wolf teeth had manifested, and with those he aggressively pecked at Damon’s arms until he got a hold and sank his poisonous teeth into his flesh.

Damon threw him off over him and quickly rose from the ground.

“Damon…” Caroline whispered, worry lacing her voice. 

“I'm fine,” he snapped.

“Get out of here!” Tyler screamed.

“Get to the Lockwood cellar. If it held him in, it'll keep him out,” Damon hurriedly commanded. Caroline started running towards the Lockwood cellar in a human speed with added vampire spurts from time to time to lure Tyler to follow her as Damon rushed from the woods to the opposite direction. It would do no good if Tyler decided to follow him and finish what he had started. 

Damon considered himself lucky when, after running a few moments, he couldn’t hear the werewolf following him. He ran until he reached the yard of Salvatore’s Boarding house. Instead of walking inside he stopped, took a deep breath to center himself and tried to collect his thoughts from the adrenaline infused mess they had become. He needed a plan, he-- he needed to-- 

Concentrate. Take another deep breath. Let it clear his mind. 

He had - against what he had originally decided - helped to sabotage Nik’s - _Klaus’_ \- ritual. No wolf, no vampire, no ritual. But he had taken Elena already, and finding a replacement for Caroline in a town full of vampires wasn’t difficult. Damon wasn’t sure if Tyler had come alone nor if there was another werewolf in some hidden cell, waiting to be killed if something happened to the number one option a.k.a Tyler Lockwood. The few moments he had shared with Nik made him sure the Original wasn’t stupid enough to think someone wouldn’t try to stop him. He had to have a backup plan. And if he had? They didn’t have the enough time to ruin that one too.

A sharp pain shattered his focus. Damon physically turned to stare at his arm and now ruined jacket. He slipped the clothing off and pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal a festering bitemark on his arm. The memory of Rose when she was in his arms, living the last seconds of her immortal life in the illusion of a sunny meadow, slammed itself on Damon’s mind, burning as if it had happened just a few seconds ago. The realisation of his own coming fate felt like a bucket of ice water, leaving him feeling frozen to the marrow.

He was dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for every piece of attention you have given to this fic. Every kudo, every comment and every subscription has boosted my motivation as a writer a lot.  
> If you noticed any mistakes (especially if you noticed the same mistake done more often than once) pleace leave a comment and point it out! I might graduate next week but I still am not as good as a native English speaker would be, and possibly never will.


	3. Motivating Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have done some minor fixes to chapter one and will (hopefully) go through chapter two as well. Nothing big, I assure, just overall polishing.  
> I had to split this chapter in two, but the second part? no idea when will that be ready. Sorry y'all. 
> 
> Again, some lines are directly from the show. A line at the end is from the Bible. I own absolutely nothing.

_He was dying_. 

There was an itch running in his veins, infecting him, demanding to be scratched until the resistance of his skin broke and blood dirtied his short nails. He was suffocating, lungs trapped under the immovable cage built from his ribs. The sensation wasn’t _real_ , it only affected his mind as he didn’t need to breathe, didn’t need to feel anymore. Unconsciously he ran his hand through his hair as he fought to ease the sensation. The old human habit of calming oneself through touch showed itself at the oddest times. The panic, the maddening itch, didn’t disappear, but the small self-control he possessed turned it into stale numbness. He had time to think -- he had time to process this _later_.

A passing thought to not undress himself until he would be sure he was safe passed through his mind as he rolled his sleeve down and put the leather jacket back on. With the extra layer to hide the festering bitemark he felt less unbalanced than before. Out of sight, out of mind. There was not a soul in the yard nor on the driveway to witness Damon’s actions as he collected himself to concentrate fully on the present.

When Damon got on the doorway of the rich coloured living room he was stopped by the tension in the atmosphere, thick enough for even the most insensitive to feel. He saw no point in interrupting Stefan who seemed as he would break his own teeth from clenching them so hard. He hadn’t seen his brother this angry since, well, since the… Since forever, he concluded, as he couldn’t remember the exact time nor the place. A vampire’s memory wouldn't forget something like that, unless it had happened long before he was turned. Confusion clouded his mind for a short moment until his attention was directed back to what was happening in the room. 

“Who are the accused?” Stefan asked from the room’s only sitting person. 

“Only you and Damon.” It was the busboy, now woken up and holding a glass of water. The surface of the glass was steamy from the warm and sweaty hands.

“Who else knows?” Elijah asked nonchalantly. He was terribly calm, not really focusing on anyone in the room. He hold himself like he was preparing himself for a funeral. Which, in his case, was exactly what was happening. 

“Outside of me and Sheriff Forbes, I don’t know,” the boy answered, unsurely glancing at Elijah before lowering his eyes once again. It seemed he had no idea who the Original was and held no fear towards him, but he wasn’t as stupid as to act like there was nothing to be wary of.

“How does dear Sheriff know that?” Damon inquired as he finally joined the conversation. He could've sworn he had wiped Liz’s memory clean of present vampires living in her hometown, but clearly something had gone wrong. Was there another vampire hunter? Had she grown suspicious of him? Where there another vervain patch?

The blood drained from Matt’s face and he inhaled sharply. That was a question he clearly didn’t want to answer. He opened his mouth slightly as if he had an answer ready but he only offered an uncertain “umm”. 

A sudden, persistent knocking on the door interrupted them.

Damon’s eyes automatically searched his brother’s, whose body had turned marble in its perfect attentiveness. Their eyes met and Damon knew whoever was behind the door would be in great danger if he let Stefan confront them. His brother seemed volative and barely in control of himself. He quickly moved to open the door. 

John Gilbert, the biological father of Elena, stood behind the Salvatore Boarding House’s front door, hand raised for a second, even more insisting patch of knocking. 

“Elena hasn't returned any of my calls for days. I need to see her,” he said as a greeting before rudely forcing himself inside the house. The way he stopped his movement abruptly like any prey did when it saw a predator told Damon how much more alarmed John turned when he realised Damon wasn’t the only one welcoming him. 

“Well, you're a day late and a daughter short, John,” Damon told him as he closed the door. Another human to make him feel even more fed up about the whole situation. 

“What are you talking about?” John turned to face Damon, brows furrowing and lines on his face deepening.

“Klaus has her. Sacrifice goes down tonight.” It was Stefan who replied in a solemn tone. For some reason John Gilbert, mister “my whole family is full of vampire hunters”, had decided to give some kind of silent blessing to Stefan and therefore treat him almost civilly. 

“What happened?”

“I fed her my blood,” Damon bluntly revealed, not really caring if Gilbert knew the truth of how it was him who had doomed poor Elena. He was becoming tired, physically and mentally, and there really wasn’t time to think what had already happened if they wanted to take the chance to save Elena and destroy Klaus. The feeling of time running out made not only him but the others as well agitated. 

“You what?!?” John screeched. He was ready to start spitting angry accusations at Damon, the first of them already spilling from his lips before he was interrupted. According to John it had been solely Damon’s responsibility to protect Elena and somehow failing in this was the main reason why he should be burning in the deepest of hells for the rest of eternity. 

“We should leave if we wish to follow the original plan,” Elijah said just a little bit too loud to force it in everyone’s head that he wasn’t kidding and he wasn’t willing to let the drama go on. He hold his hands together, looking regal with his head high up and suit pristine. A look at Stefan, waiting for something. 

A surge of anger filled Damon when he realised it was _action_ Elijah was waiting for Stefan to take. As if Stefan hold all the cards to what would happen next. As if he was the one who was sacrificing his life for Elena’s. Of course Stefan shared the short moment with Elijah, wheels visibly turning in his head as his jaw tensed and he became even more solemn. 

The anger evaporated from his blood like water droplets thrown on a hot stove when Stefan looked at him, posture hard but eyes unsure. He quickly glanced at the humans, question forming itself on his worried brows. Damon gave him a small, affirmative nod, understanding what his brother was asking; yes, they would take the humans with them. There was no way in hell anyone would be left at the boarding house, but none of the humans would be joining them at the ritual since unnecessary sacrifices were something none of them wanted. He wouldn’t risk Alaric’s life like that - anything could happen, even if he had that magic heirloom -, and neither would Bonnie. Or so Damon hoped and bet on.

“I-I know a spell which could save Elena’s life. It’s in the Gilbert’s journals. You need my help,” Gilbert begged in his most least begging tone. It was the cracking of his voice which betrayed emotions Damon didn't believe him to possess. He didn’t want to lose his daughter to a life he had so hard fought to eradicate. Not for a second did Damon consider love could have been the reason why Gilbert tried so hard to save her. In Damon’s mind the only thing John Gilbert cared of was annihilating vampires from the world completely.

“We won’t be fitting all in one car…” Stefan said, giving Damon a chance to make a choice for driving arrangement if he so wished. 

Damon sighed. “Elijah,” Damon said with a fake smile plastered on his face as he reopened the front door and dramatically waved his hand to the direction of the yard, “if you please.” He did not want the murderous vampire hunter in his car. Elijah gave him strong creeps, but it was better than Matt the Human as picking Alaric was not an option.

Stefan nodded and turned to look at Alaric. “Will you drive or shall I?” he asked since Alaric’s car was the only one big enough to fit them all. Alaric threw the keys to Stefan and urged Matt to get up and going. 

And so they emptied the Salvatore Boarding House and set their way to Old Witch House as quickly as possible. The moon was shining high and the roads were empty of traffic.

The ride wasn’t unbearably long. Damon could’ve stayed silent, embrace the awkwardness in the air and keep his mouth shut until they got to their destination and then deliver some of his characteristic witty remarks. 

He did not do that. Why? Because he had to _know_ , even thought the answer would, at this point, only help him to understand how Stefan could handle his soon coming death. It was just as common knowledge how Damon wanted to Stefan to be miserable and unhappy as it was known how Damon would protect his baby brother to his last breath. His ultimate death would either break or free Stefan. 

“So, how does it feel to know you are going to lose the last member of your family?” As was his nature he hid his curiosity behind arrogant and cocky smirk.

Physically there was no reaction from Elijah. The calm mask he always wore didn’t crack nor did his body move with a breath he didn’t necessarily need but tended to take when there were humans around. Only the blinking of his eyes told Damon something was happening in his head. 

“Have you had the pleasure of meeting my brother?” Elijah asked instead of answering the question. Damon’s smirk died and he unconsciously put more pressure on the leather wheel under his fingers. The reaction did not escape from the Original’s attention as he turned his head slightly to look at the younger vampire better. 

“Twice, actually. Seemed like a…” Damon didn’t know how to continue and left the sentence hanging in the air until it blew away with the wind. He kept his eyes on the road, now a familiar mix of curiosity and confusion fogging his thoughts as always when he thought of Nik. He still did not know what to make out of him, except now he was additionally annoyed. Nik had stabbed him after all! What a dick. 

It took a while until Elijah replied. 

“I haven’t seen him in almost a century, and during that time I have felt almost free. He is my brother, but alas, I would be lying if I say he wasn’t a terrible person from time to time.” 

Damon didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. The mood have turned even more awkward. He didn’t expect the conversation to go on, but Elijah surprised him with a few carefully selected words just before the house got into their view. 

“When you are immortal you’ll notice there’s nothing more important than family, except the family you’ve chosen yourself. Niklaus daggered our family one by one and still I chose to be by his side. He scattered them across the seas where their bodies could not be found,” Elijah told as Damon parked the vehicle. “I am a man of my word: I will revenge them,” he austerely swore before he graciously rose from the car and ended the conversation. It didn’t take long for the rest of the party to reach the Witch House.

“Everything alright?” Stefan called after he had exited the car and noticed Damon was still sitting in his seat, not really doing anything.

“Yeah,” came the automatic reply as he finally rose from the seat and closed the blue door, unnecessarily locking it. He was dying, Elijah was killing the last member of his family, Elena was going to turn into a vampire. How could everything be alright?

The next moments went quickly as Bonnie did the tracking spell and found out the ritual was taking place on Steven’s quarry and John explained his miracle solution. After she had studied the delicate journals John Gilbert had found the spell from she did the spell to switch his life-force to replace his daughter's. Or their souls. Whatever, Damon didn’t believe it would work anyways.

Their plan of action was simple: Damon would kill the witch, Stefan would save Elena’s corpse and Elijah would end Klaus. Matt, Alaric and Jeremy would be staying over the Witch House, unable to leave as a spell Bonnie would perform just before it was time to get moving kept them contained. The last part of their plan was left unsaid.

The only problem was their lack of information: they had no idea who were the replacements for Caroline Forbes and Tyler Lockwood. 

“What does it matter? It's not like they could be someone we knew,” Damon remarked indifferently when Jeremy surprisingly brought it up. He was sure all the vampires Elena cared about were right there (Stefan, maybe Elijah, maybe himself?) and he doubted she knew any werewolves outside the Lockwood pup. 

“If everything is ready, let’s go. We got a hybrid to kill,” Damon said and walked out of the dusty room where Bonnie, the Gilberts and possibly the spirits of dead witches had gathered. He waited at the root of the stairs for Bonnie, eavesdropping as she revealed she wouldn’t be taking Jeremy with her. The soft exchange between the witch and her boyfriend was sweet. Damon couldn’t help but to admire how emotionlessly she managed to dismiss Jeremy’s begging as he whined to be allowed to come with them. As if he could be any help! 

“All right. I got the weapons in the car,” Alaric said, full of determination, when Elijah announced aloud that it was time to go.

“Bonnie’s the only weapon we need,” Elijah replied without pausing his steps, Bonnie and Damon following him. 

Alaric tried to walk out of the front door, stress on the word ‘tried’. An invisible barrier was metal under his fingers, impenetrable and very effective in stopping his intentions. He was left standing alone on the doorway, looking bamboozled.

”Bonnie! What is this?” Alaric shouted.

Bonnie stopped and whipped her head to look at Alaric. “I can't put anyone else at risk. I’m sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all as she turned her back at Alaric.

“You can't do this! Damon?”

”Sorry, buddy. She's right,” Damon said, feeling just as apologetic as Bonnie did. Like hell he would risk Ric’s life! His desperate, pleading yells accompanied them until the mighty trees swallowed their shadows from human eyes.

They walked a few feet until it became clear it was too dark for Bonnie to move quickly enough. Since the moon was soon to pass its zenith, they had to hurry. Stefan offered to piggyback ride Bonnie which she accepted. They slowed down when the smell of fire reached Elijah’s nose. 

“Can you hear what they are speaking?” Stefan murmured. Since Elijah was as old as Klaus, it was natural to expect their enhanced abilities be superior to an average vampire but equal to each other. Elijah had explained that the ritual would begin with destroying the moonstone, then the deaths of a werewolf and a vampire in that exact order until it would be the Doppelgänger’s turn. Which stage where they in?

“A woman is screaming. I believe it’s the werewolf,” Elijah answered. They kept walking until Elijah abruptly stopped and sighed resentfully. He turned his head to look at them. “Klaus knows you tried to stop the ritual. The vampire is Elena’s aunt, freshly transformed, or else there’s no reason for her to be here too.”

“Shit,” Damon cursed. Bonnie’s eyes widened in shock as she whispered a breathless ‘no’. 

“I’ll go and--” Stefan began, presumably trying to suggest sacrificing himself to save Jenna, but Damon interrupted him sharply. 

“No, I’ll go. It’s because of my actions Jenna is there,” he said, taking the blame before Stefan could start blaming himself. If he died, good! He wouldn’t need to suffer through what Rose had nor did he have to face Alaric and admit it was because of him (not Ric, never because of him even though he personally would have done nothing to sabotage the ritual, the blame would never fall on Alaric) his girlfriend was dead.

“Damon--” Stefan tried, but he didn’t get to finish his sentence as Damon had already disappeared. 

He moved as silently as he could, arriving just on edge of the forest. The scene he ended up witnessing was disturbing: two circles of fire were burning and a blonde woman was lying on the ground in a blood puddle. He saw Jenna, he saw Elena, and he saw the witch who was chanting. In the middle of it all was Klaus, whose eyes were on desperate, begging Elena. The flames cast shadows on his face, making him look devilish.

“--our rules; I did everything that you asked. I didn't run. Please.” Damon could hear the tears she was trying to hold back. 

Klaus gave Elena an amused smile. “Oh I know,” he said, nodding his head slightly as an agreement, “but he didn’t.” Klaus turned to look straight at Damon, capturing his eyes.

He could hear Elena’s confused whispering of his name. Damon corrected his posture and took a preparing breath to calm the natural instincts which screamed him to escape from the mightier hunter. He felt weak, he felt scared, something he hadn't feel ever before facing Nik. 

He turned it off.

Klaus was in front of him in an eye blink.

He felt invisible.

There was a moment where universe muted every noise and made it seem like they were the center of existence, the meaning of life, the answer to every question. “Why are you here?” Klaus murmured softly. He seemed to be in a good mood, if slightly tense, as if he was waiting for the sky to fall down and crush him like a bug.

“I ask you to spare Jenna’s life and use me in her stead,” Damon said, surprising himself with the steadiness of his voice. It was a literal death wish and still he sounded as if he was asking something as mundane as to turn the lights off when leaving the room.

Klaus’ smile widened, showing his sharp teeth, while his brows furrowed in confusion. Doubt filled the tiny crooks of his face. He inhaled deeply and waited for Damon to show his true colours and disprove the sincerity he had shown.

That did not happen. But he did notice something.

“Sweet raven, I can’t possibly use you.”

“Why not?” Damon asked, feeling confused.

“We both know why. I can smell it on you, your impurity,” Klaus whispered, fingers reaching for Damon’s wrist. The touch felt electrifying, shocking, making him unable to move. “You’re useless to me.” 

“I truly assumed it was Stefan who would take the martyr road,” Klaus continued, raising his other hand to rest on Damon’s neck. He caressed the strong line of Damon’s jaw with his thumb, puzzled smile on his lips as Damon did nothing to stop him.

A flame of emotions burned Damon; he wanted to physically fight Klaus, his blood screaming for him to attack the Original and rip his throat open. Instead he did nothing more to stop the ritual, to save Jenna, to end his upcoming suffering before it had truly begun. The small bursts of emotional storms he experienced were just the beginning.

Klaus chuckled, but only his lips synced with the amusement. 

“You should learn to take responsibility for your actions, Damon. I’m not your easy way out.”

And he snapped Damon’s neck. 

* * *

The ground was cold and the foliage moist under his cheek. A sparrow sang its morning call as Damon became conscious. The nature around him felt peaceful, calm. It had already forgotten the night’s disturbance and moved on. 

The sudden hunger strangled him, the viciousness of it coming out of nowhere. The peacefulness around him was shattered and his senses searched only for blood, blood, blood, pinpointing the dried blood on the stone altar, the grass, the ground. He smelled the mice, the rabbits, the deer as his nose tried to find the closest human.

Damon rose quickly, panting and feeling disoriented. He could only focus on how thirsty he was, how his throat felt sandpaper dry and the skin around his eyes irritated.

The chaotic feeling was over as soon as it had started, leaving Damon hyper-aware of his surroundings without the blinding bloodlust. He had to take a deep breath, inhale the reality and let it fill his senses. What the ever-forsaken God had happened? 

“Damon?” 

Stefan was behind him, looking like a mess. 

“What happened?” Damon asked, unable to concentrate on more than one thing at time. He saw the wrinkles and dried blood on Stefan’s clothes, the fatigue and blood loss on his face, and he smelled Elena and tears on him. She must have survived. Was Nik dead?

Damon almost stumbled when Stefan threw his arms around him.

“Stefan?” he quietly asked when his brother tightened his grip around him. He couldn’t remember the last time Stefan had hugged him with such palpable desperation. 

“I won’t lose you, Damon. We’ll find a cure,” Stefan mumbled on his shoulder. 

“What? Stefan, what are you talking about?” 

Stefan loosened his grip and gave Damon some space. 

“Klaus told you were bitten.”

“And you believed him?” Damon snorted, trying to brush off the quickly building panic. 

“Were you?” Stefan asked, his voice deadly serious. He wouldn’t swallow the lie Damon was about to tell, since even he understood how weak a simple ‘no’ would sound like. 

“...yes.” Fuck. Damon closed his eyes as he couldn’t bear to see his little brother’s face. “I should end it now, before I become as bad as Rose did,” he whispered, mind flashbacking to her last moments. Fear filled him.

“Damon, don’t,” Stefan begged, not really stating what he was begging for. 

Damon rotated the enchanted ring on his finger before removing it quickly inside his fist and throwing it in the woods. 

“NO!” Stefan yelled and run after the ring as Damon’s skin started blistering under the Sun’s morning rays. 

It hurt. He felt his skin break, blood burning and every nerve screaming him to go to shade, go to ground, go to wherever the Sun didn’t shine. 

He fell as Stefan tackled him down and forced the ring back to its rightful place, locking him on the ground as he pinned him down. Damon could only groan as he felt too weak to resist Stefan’s actions. 

Tense silence built between them. “There’s no cure. It would be easier if you just let me go now, brother,” Damon said, breaking the silence. He didn’t want to hurt Stefan, and the monster he would become? That was not how he wanted to be remembered. A creature filled with bloodlost, mindless and senseless, unable to recognize the reality around it, only seeing memories of past long gone and the red haze. He would rather die now while he the choice was his to make.

“Let me at least try. Please, Damon,” he begged.

“Stefan…”

His brother's face was painted with desperation and fear. Damon felt the shaking of his fingers around his arms, heard the painful inhales Stefan took. It was heartbreaking to see his brother so vulnerable, as if he was human again.

“Okay,” he quietly answered. How could he say no to his little brother who was so hurt by the possibility of him dying? False hope was a cruel gift to give, but what else could he do? His skin had already healed from the sunlight, but the venom burned as it spread through his veins. He was so tired. Tired of trying, tired of fighting.

“Okay,” Stefan echoed. He exhaled and finally got up, quickly offering Damon a helping hand. “Let’s go, there’s a funeral to attend.”

The funeral was a sombre event. Damon couldn’t look at Alaric and he had no interest in talking with Elena, so he stayed apart from the rest of the funeral crowd. He had failed both of them, but to his surprise letting Ric down hurt more. Hopefully Ric wouldn’t beat himself up for his girlfriend’s death. 

_For dust you are, and to dust you shall return._

“Is it over?” he asked when Stefan left Elena with her family and came to stood by his side. 

“We're going to head back to the house,” Stefan replied, eyes keeping track on weeping Elena. She was alive, and wasn't that the most important thing?

“And after that? Are we having an after party to celebrate the defeat of the big bad Original? Where’s Elijah anyway?” Damon questioned, finding himself surprised when he realised Elijah was nowhere to be seen. He seemed too polite to skip Jenna’s funeral ceremony for no reason.  
Stefan stiffened next to him.

“Damon…” he started, and Damon knew instantly that everything was not alright.

“Elijah betrayed us. Klaus is still alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm not sure what's happening with Liz at this part of the show and I was too lazy to research it  
> \- I wasn't too lazy to research what kind of cars does everyone own  
> \- I tried to find what birbs are natural for Virginia but for some reason I couldn't, so sparrow is a wild guess. Please correct me if I'm wrong & if you happen to know anything about birbs!


	4. Bittersweet Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A full year since I posted the first chapter of the sequel! Thank you for reading <3

_“Elijah betrayed us. Klaus is still alive.”_

Words hid from Damon like the rays of light, leaving him blind and without a sense of direction. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The meaning of Stefan’s words were impossible to comprehend, as if they were spoken in a different language. Could it be that everything they did was for naught? Was he dying for nothing? And Elijah, proud and honourable Elijah, betrayed them? Unbelievable. He must have misheard Stefan. 

“Please tell me you are joking, Stefan,” Damon choked the plead out tiredly. He massaged his temple to ease the blossoming headache which threatened to consume every logical thought his mind was capable of manifesting.

The cold anger on Stefan’s face told him more than his words did. “I wish I could,” Stefan said, biting his cheeks to hide the defeat he felt so strongly. They had failed in so many ways, and of course Stefan had chosen to blame himself. Damon didn’t think even for a second anything his brother did had resulted in their plan failing so miserably, but then again, he wasn’t sure of the finer details of the night. His broken neck had made remembering slightly more difficult as the blood flow to his brains was interrupted.

“Klaus had lied to Elijah. Apparently he hadn’t buried their siblings in the middle of the ocean. It was enough for Elijah to break his promise and save Klaus before Bonnie could finish him.”

“And the curse?”

“Broken, but we don’t know what became of Klaus, if he succeeded in becoming a hybrid. We assume he did,” Stefan explained. His eyes were on Elena who had taken Jeremy’s hand to lead him back to home where soothing tea and warm food were waiting to bring them much needed comfort. Goodbyes rarely got any easier.

“Let’s go,” Stefan said, changing the subject when he was sure Damon wasn’t about to ask more, as he was still trying to process the reality he had woken into. The funeral crowd had said their last blessings, given their last flowers and said their last farewells. Elena threw them glances, eyes full of sadness and despair, as they left the graveyard, waiting without verifying her actions and thoughts aloud. 

“Not the smartest idea to take me with you,” Damon said with a quick but tight smile.

“Why not?” Stefan asked, stopping in midstep.

“The not-so-nice side-effects of the bite include hallucinations and irresistable bloodlust.” His answer was accompanied by a wide, bitter smile. “It’s not safe for the humans.” It was not safe for anyone, especially if his hallucinations threw him back in time to the period where all he could think of was his hate for Stefan and love for the two-faced, backstabbing bitch, lady Katherine Pierce. His brother didn’t deserve to get lynched while trying to clean up the mess he would surely create in his blinded mindstate.

After some hesitation Stefan tried again: “I want to be there for Elena. We’ll be quick.” 

Damon took a deep breath. He truly, madly, deeply did not want to admit that he’d rather not face Elena. Pride stopped him admitting his true feelings. “You’re not going to leave me alone, aren’t you, brother?” he huffed instead with a teasing smile. Stefan wouldn’t. 

“No, I’m not,” Stefan confirmed with a smile, crossing his arms over his chest. Damon knew that unyielding look: the stubbornness, the perseverance, the determination. And so holy Saint Stefan, the first martyr, was summoned. Only this time it wasn't some lost human girl who needed saving from Damon but a dying immortal who had to be saved from himself. How the tables had turned when one lived long enough. 

“After you, brother,” Damon sighed, defeated, but the war wasn’t over. 

* * *

“Damon?” Elena whispered after she had embraced Stefan with her warmth and salty tears. She wrapped her arms around herself after letting go of Stefan, looking like she wanted to hug him next. Or slap him. 

He wished he had said no to Stefan, insisted more strongly and argued more sharply, rather than doing as his little brother had asked. 

“My condolences, Elena,” Damon said, feeling glad and disappointed at the same time. The words sounded empty and tasted like dust. He wanted to hug her but he also knew how terrible idea it would be. Even though she had seemed less furious, he held no hope for absolute forgiveness. He had killed her brother and Jenna and John - though he did not take responsibility for the latter two. Elena nodded, coming to the same conclusions. Damon wondered did she took take the same trip down to memory lane as he had.

“You-you tried to your best, Damon,” _but it wasn’t enough_ was left unsaid. Damon was sure there was more she wanted to say, wanted to explain, wanted to _talk through_ \- she desperately needed someone to blame. He simply didn’t want to hear it. He was done and had no interest in spending the last moments harbouring his unrequited love for Elena, begging for forgiveness. Why should he be the one who should take the burden for failing to stop the ritual? At least he had tried, though his actions were more motivated with the want to help Ric when he realised who were they truly fighting against. 

He excused himself as soon as it was polite to do. Stefan gave him a worried look and for a short moment Damon wondered would his brother make up some excuse so he could leave with Damon, always making sure Damon wasn’t without his presence for too long. The thought had a short, disappointing life and made Damon feel stupid. His brother had shown uncharacteristic amount of care for him - it couldn’t be real, and he would be the biggest fool of Mystic Falls if he thought Stefan could care for him after the Hell he had put him through.

How he hated himself. He hated promising to abandon his pride for a hope short lived since there wasn’t some magical cure. He was doomed and he was only prolonging his suffering. But ending it now when he had deliberately promised Stefan not to meet the Sun before his time was up would be… wrong. 

So he went home. He got a bloodbag from the freezer, drank it, the cold liquid tasting like disappointment, and got another. The second bloodbag tasted not only vile but it also created a pulsing ache which made him want to rip his own throat open and pour blood directly onto the throb like a balm. A deep breath and he smelt everything and his fangs itched - and it was gone. 

Damon had switched to bourbon when Stefan got back. 

“I talked to Bonnie. She’ll try to contact the witches tomorrow after she has had a proper rest,” he said as a greeting while removing the black suit jacket and throwing it carelessly over a chair. 

“Who else knows I’ve been bitten?” Damon asked between the gulps. He was already halfway through the bottle, mentally justifying the rapid speed he was drinking with the knowledge of the booze going otherwise waste. Shame Alaric was too angry at him to join him. A passing thought of Nik being a better drinking companion than Stefan came and went through his mind like a wind. 

“Just Bonnie. Klaus wondered aloud how am I taking losing both you and Elena,” Stefan admitted, piquing Damon’s curiosity once again. 

“What actually happened after I was out of the game?” he asked. Now was an excellent time to fill the gaps. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. If--when he died, he corrected his stray thoughts, most of his material possessions would go to Stefan. Except his booze, if he could help it. Damon refilled his glass and drank to it.

Stefan didn’t answer for a while, struggling to collect his thoughts. “After he broke your neck, he killed Jenna. I wanted to offer myself, but Elijah was strongly against it.” Stefan’s jaw tensed as he was plunged back to the memory. Damon wondered did Elijah have to physically restrain Stefan from running to lethal danger. He would die, sure, so Nik didn’t need to kill him himself. But Stefan? He knew no reason his brother would have been given the same kind of _mercy_. 

“When he killed Elena… I had to get her away from him. He just laughed when I got there and asked how does it feel to lose you both in such a short time. Bonnie’s spell started affecting him right after that, and then Elijah was there.” Stefan didn’t need to explain Elijah’s betrayal again, but he did tell how John died a little after they got back to the Witch House and how after he had made sure Elena was fine, he came back to get him. He had realised Klaus’ true implication when he had got back to the clearing where Damon had just woken up, looking as feral as a baby vamp. 

Damon was silent. He could almost picture the night’s procession, but one thing made him frown in puzzlement. 

“What happened to the witch?” 

“Bonnie? She’s--” 

“No, I mean the witch who Nik had with him, the one who performed the witchy part of the ritual,” Damon specified. 

Stefan looked surprised. He folded his arm in front of him the way which made him always look like he was the older of the two brothers. Only a few seconds had passed but in that time Stefan’s jaw had tensed and anger had dominated his expression. 

“She must have gotten away,” he said, voice empty of emotion but palpable the cold anger. How could they have overlooked something so essential? 

Damon sighed. He wanted to be furious, wanted to be impulsive and start planning for the witch hunt. Instead he felt exhausted. He was living his last days, no matter what Stefan thought. Fate didn’t give second chances, let alone third.

So he said nothing, didn’t try to rile up Stefan. He was sure they had time for witch hunt and killing Nik after he was gone. 

“I need to contact my lawyer.”

“Damon…” Stefan rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“No, Stefan, listen,” Damon snapped. It was cute how his brother refused to let go of hope, even when there was none for him. “You can’t be sure Bonnie finds a cure. Rose had a day. A day, Stefan!” He wanted to throw the hard fact at his brother face like a glass bottle, to make sure he knew Damon was living the last evening with his sanity intact. But, he couldn’t do it; he couldn’t crush his brother’s optimism. 

“There must be a cure,” Stefan said lamely. 

It was wiser to say nothing, so silent he stayed, until he had enough of scotch and decided to call his lawyer. 

That was how he spent his day: making sure his earthly business were taken care of. He didn’t seek Andie out for he saw no reason to put her in danger. She had been gentle with him when he needed it and there had been no nonsense feelings between them to make things unnecessarily difficult. 

(He included her in his will to repay the suffering she had gone through to satisfy him. He was good but not the easiest lover.) 

He didn't feel quite as lonely as he thought he would. Sleep wasn't necessary, they weren't humans after all, so they spent the night together as they had done in time before Katherine. When Damon wasn't reminiscing their childhood and Stefan wasn't laughing over his brother’s playful insults, they talked about Katherine and a little bit of Elena. 

During the darkest of hours they fought once again as his brother got more and more stressed. Damon has been tired and could remember only that it had happened after he had woken up from a light slumber. He rose with the realisation that this day would be his last.

He felt it. In his bones, in his muscles, in his blood. Under his skin lurked madness, ready to consume. When the sun fell down there would be nothing left of him but memories and the thirst for blood.

The morning Sun shined gloriously through the windows as he strutted down the stairs to continue drinking. It was a truly disappointing experience: the alcohol which had once tasted rich and deep tasted repulsive, as if all of his precious whiskey had gone bad overnight. He put down his glass with a grimace.

“You should lock me up,” Damon suggested to Stefan who had quietly joined him. The golden rays caressed the woods and painted everything warm. It was going to be a beautiful day, if a little cloudy. 

Stefan took a deep breath before opening his mouth: “You could come with me?” The words were terribly close to sounding like a plead. 

Damon let out a dry laugh. When had his brother nurtured such a cruel sense of humour? “Like the witches would hear me out,” he snorted, having made up his mind about how he would spent his next hours. “I expect you to come to release me from my misery when Bonnie fails to please the witches.”

With a defeated expression Stefan locked Damon into the family dungeon: a cold, dreary place with only a lifeless light bulb to keep him company. Damon wanted to groan: this was the least comfortable way to spent his last day on Earth, but sacrifices were meant to be taken. 

“I could bring you a book?” 

“What an excellent idea, brother dear!” Damon said sarcastically and sat down, hitting his head against the brick wall. He closed his eyes for a second, waiting for Stefan to bring him something to pass the time in his inescapable cell.

Damon didn’t notice when Stefan came. He didn’t hear if Stefan said anything, but suddenly his brother was gone and he was all alone with an open book on his lap. When he opened his eyes, he saw he had flipped a few dozen pages but had no memory of reading them.

Was he losing time? 

He took a shuddering breath which turned into a bloody cough. He felt warm and cold and sick like he was a human once again, ill with a fever and covered with a sheen layer of sweat. Terribly fragile, but at the same time there was hidden strength, clawing its way through the weakness to empower him once again as a hunter above the food chain. He wanted, _craved_ , blood more than ever before in his long life. 

It was maddening. 

Then he saw her. She was there, straight out of his boyhood memories, looking beautiful in a way only time could enhance with her heart-shaped face and alluring smile! His heart skipped a beat.

“Mr. Salvatore, spying on a lady is a sign of very poor manners,” she said to his reflection, once again in front of her vanity. 

His voice was barely clear enough to not be confused with a mumble as he moved closer to touch her porcelain skin, free of imperfections. She was his first and the only true love in his human days. The words they exchanged in his hallucination were snippets of time long gone, now holding very little significance. 

Was is truly wrong to love, to adore, to worship her? At the time it had felt like she had given him everything he had ever wanted or needed. She had been a blessing in disguise with the joy she brought to him. Had he ever been truly as happy as he was during those months in the 19th century or had time made memories grow sweeter? 

“Is it so wrong for me to want you both?” Katherine asked sounding utterly confused about the possibility of a no. To Damon the words held a desperate possibility that Katherine had truly, once upon a time, cared about him too. Maybe… maybe even loving him the way he loved her? 

“Damon?” a voice called urgently.

Coldness embraced his feverish mind.

“Don't you see? She was toying with you. All you had to do was say no, walk away. You had a choice,” Elena accused as if she was the one in pain while Katherine’s soft fingers caressed his jaw to make him turn his attention back to her.

He didn’t need her copy’s demands to recognize how Katherine had exploited his love from him, didn’t need a cruel reminder how his brother was best in all the realms it mattered: their father loved Stefan more, Katherine chose Stefan, Elena chose Stefan - he was fucking tired of being number two, but after the day and night he had spent with Stefan he couldn’t possibly keep blaming his little brother. It felt wrong to do so.

The 19th century morning left him and he was back in the cellar. A sharp pain had engulfed his whole arm and as he rolled his shirt sleeve up, he could see why. The bite mark looked nasty, like a mix between burn mark and gangrene. It was miracle he could still use the arm. 

“Well, that looks bad,” Alaric said behind the small window. 

”It feels worse. My subconscious is haunting me, Ric. Please tell me you have something for that,” Damon begged tiredly. His prayers were answered as Alaric filled him a glass of scotch - until he remembered how vile it had tasted just a few hours ago. Pity. The act of getting up was not worth it.

“Did Stefan send you?” 

“Yeah,” Alaric admitted, sipping straight from the bottle. 

“Of course he did,” Damon huffed, throat feeling tight. There were words he had to say now that he was lucky to have Ric here or remain silent forever. He had been sure he wouldn’t have the chance to meet him ever again to apologize. “I’m sorry about Jenna. And your wife, fuck, I’m sorry about her too.”

“Mate, none of it’s your fault,” Alaric returned quietly, taking a larger sip. He hadn’t had the time to do more than shut the glass bottle when Damon crumpled down with a tiny scream, the glass rolling from his fingers on the floor.

“Damon?” 

“I need blood. I need blood,” Damon chanted, his body on fire. He heard Alaric moving away, his feet softly hitting the ground. As Alaric ventured away from Damon’s cell, the blood song got stronger, overpowering any other noise. He had to get out of the cell. 

He didn’t register anything until the cell door was opened. To a human it might have taken a couple of seconds to open the heavy door but to Damon, who could hear the quick heartbeats and smell the sweat and the fear, it took an eternity. He was up before his prey had noticed. It was going to be an easy kill. 

Then Damon saw her. 

“Liz,” and he knew he couldn’t hurt her, but the blood lust was getting too strong to resist. He knew when he saw her that she was aware of him being a vampire, so he did what felt right when one only wanted to defend themselves: he shoved her away from him none too gently and ran. 

He stopped when a cough threatened to knock him over. He could feel his lungs breaking and fixing themselves, over and over again. The magic keeping him immortal tried its hardest to keep fighting against the venom. The more it had time to circulate and infect him, the more his body needed blood to keep fixing him.

He looked up and saw Katherine again. The way she carried herself, so confident and full of elegance. The purple surrounding her made her look like a fragile flower, worth protecting and worth dying for. Damon gasped her name because dammit, he needed to know.

Her image disappeared and Jeremy came into a view, throwing him back into reality. 

“I need to find Stefan,” he begged the human, a tiny wave of shame swimming through him. He needed his brother, not Katherine and definitely not Elena, but he could not help seeing her angelic face everywhere he looked. 

Jeremy spoke as soothingly as a guy who had very little experience of doing so did. But he did try, and Damon appreciated the physical support the boy was offering him. 

He didn’t question the youngest Gilbert when he brought him to empty Mystic Grill and made him wait like a child, he couldn’t. His head felt empty except of the pounding of his undead heart. He was sure it would soon burst as if he had been staked. 

There was a sudden silence. He turned and was faced with the barrel of a gun. Instincts overrun Damon’s mind and he run away once again, this time smelling no fear from the Sheriff. 

He run and he stopped, again and again, almost falling and picking himself up and suddenly she was there again. 

Damon was, in a way, so terribly happy that he had a familiar face, even though it was only a memory. He loved her, but he so desperately wanted to know was her feelings for him ever real. He needed the answer for order to let her memory finally go and find peace. He needed the answer to get the reassurance that he had given his human life for a brave cause, for love.

He saw the joy in her face and felt her small hand around his, leading him, though she seemed so far away.

“Where are we going?” he asked, confused but happy. 

“Everywhere!” she laughed. The playful way she spoke every word as if “hellish” was just a word amongst words and not something that could come reality was comforting. He had faith in her and in her wisdom. 

He stumbled and Katherine almost got away! Damon reached for her and pinned her against the closest tree, cutting her little game short. 

“Why must you always run from me?” he asked desperately. He was so tired of running. What did he have to do to make her happy?

”Because I know that you will chase,” she admitted, sounding so pleased of herself, that little vixen. 

”Then let me chase you forever. Feed me your blood,” he begged, out of breath. Pride did not matter when it came to her, he was willing to give her everything, and so many things he had already given. 

A flash of something far uglier than he thought her capable of almost ruined her face.“I will not feed you, Damon. If you want it, take it,” she gently said before taking a needle from the artwork that was her hair and cut her neck. “It is your choice to make,” she continued, elongating the words. How could he say no when she was offering herself on a platter?

“I choose you, Katherine,” he said, promising himself to her over and over again, sealing his life to hers, surrounding his love to her feet. He leaned down and bit down to taste the sweet magic and the richness of her age, only to find blood. 

Just blood. Regular, like water. Very good to one in need, but when hydrated there were many things that tasted better. Katherine had tasted like black tea. The blood flowing into his mouth tasted nothing like her. 

But he was so thirsty, and to thirsty man even the most poisonous of liquids sounded exquisite. 

Then he heard it: the scream within a plea to stop. Was he hurting her? So he stopped and looked at her face. Tearful, scared face.

“Elena?” 

The next time he opened his eyes was to the warm light of his room. He was in his own bed and Elena was hovering over him, wet towel in her hands. He could see the bite mark on her neck. It didn’t take lot even from him in his feverish state to put one and one together. Thank God it was Katherine he was hallucinating and not some asshole he was truly angry at, so the mark didn’t look as bad as it could. 

“Get out here, Elena, or I will hurt you again,” Damon rasped before pain too great made him sharpen his vocal chords with a scream. His chest hurt, and he prayed someone would stake him immediately. Every breath hurt.

“No. You won't. I'm here until the very end. I'm not leaving you,” she said as firmly as she knew how to, wiping his sweat gently away.

“Where’s Stefan? He promised to be here,” Damon murmured weakly. He was getting desperate and felt like crying. He was so scared and he wanted the pain to end.

He had last amends to make before his heart gave out but Stefan’s wasn’t there. He did not want some girl to be thorn in the flesh of their brotherly relationship. He wanted his family, dammit, because Stefan was the only reason he had even come this far. He had been ready to die when he thought Katherine had died for he saw no reason to live after the heartbreak, but Stefan, his baby brother, had rather forced him to live forever than be without him. 

Where was Stefan? 

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay,” she whispered as she climbed on the other side of the bed.

“It's not okay. It's not okay. All those years, I've blamed Stefan. No one forced me to love her. It was my own selfish choice just as it was his to keep us alive after she was gone. He’s all I have left, Elena, and I need him now.” There were tears on his face but he could care less, even though they felt scalding on his skin. He was weeping as he had to face the end alone. Elena was nothing but a weak substitute, a child who had seen too much and not enough.

“There’s still hope,” she cried with him too, suddenly so very emotional. Damon would have pitied her if he didn’t feel like as his death would only do good to her. He would set her free and let his brother have what he wanted, what he deserved. 

“I've made a lot of choices that have gotten me here. I deserve this. I deserve to die,” he admitted with a hoarse voice. Heavens, the choices he had made. There were so many things to regret. 

“No, you don’t,” she tried, taking his right hand into her own, sharing her warmth with his dead cold skin as his eyes were getting drowsy.

“Where’s Stefan?” he asked for the last time with a shuddering breath, knowing his time had come. His body was too tired to keep fighting. He have never felt greater fear when he locked his eyes with Elena, waiting for an empty answer he knew would give his heart the final push. Her brown eyes looked back at him, so sad and so full of despair, and he knew that she had no idea. 

“I’m here,” was breathed from the doorway and suddenly his brother was next to his bed, kneeling and cradling his hand. He gently kissed Damon’s fingers, pain clear on his face even though seeing him made all the stress disappear and the pain ease. Stefan was finally there, just as he had promised. 

Elena gasped and let go of his other hand, clumsily trying to get off from the bed. To Damon’s bemusement she didn’t try to circle the bed to get closer to Stefan, she didn't even look at him! Her eyes were glued elsewhere, like a fly to a bright light. 

Something was off.

Damon turned his head slowly to the doorway to see Nik, looking better than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your patience! Every kudo, every bookmark and every comment has filled me with awe. I am grateful for every piece of attention this fic has been given through the year.
> 
> These might be bad news for some of you, but after the next chapter I don't know what will happen. The next chapter is what I saw happening when I first thought of writing a sequel to 'A Forgotten Night Worth Remembering', but after a year of (not so active) thinking, the plot bunny I have managed to create for the events after that seems perhaps slightly boring and definitely intimidating. There is a chance I will end this installment with the next chapter unless I truly figure out where I want to take their story next.


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